Save the Last Dance For Me
by Neferit
Summary: Amy Shepard dances like a giraffe that drank too muc beer. Everyone knows it. But what if everyone is lying through their teeth?


**A/N:** I believe that by this fic I'm filling my own prompt over at masseffectkink meme over at LJ:

_So everyone makes fun of Shepard's dancing, telling them how terrible they are at it. But the truth is, when Shepard moves, it's sex on legs. Men get boners. Ladies get lady-boners. It gets so hot that everyone feels like jumping outta their skin to cool off a bit, after seeing Shepard dance. Naturally, they try to avoid such situations in public, thus they keep on telling how terrible dancer Shepard is. Until someone finally tells Shepard how great they dance. I think this someone definitely shouldn't mind the boner/lady-boner in public._

Anyway, anyone else thinks I'm pathetic for filling my own prompts?

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Mass Effect, but I do own the prompt. My precioussss!

* * *

**Save the Last Dance for Me**

_These spacer kids really shouldn't be allowed to dance,_ thought Eric. He was watching his classmates at the moment, most of them grown up out in the black, on the ships their parents served on, and most of them had no idea how to club-dance properly.

_Most_ being the key word here.

But there was this girl, he didn't remember seeing her before, hair so light it seemed silver, which definitely had an idea or two, sticking out among the rest of them like a sore thumb. The way her hips wrapped in tight jeans, moved, how her hands caressed the air as she waved them above her head, how the muscles showing off where her shirt rolled up played under the colourful light in the club... Eric felt his pants, tight as they were, growing even tighter.

"Like what you see?" asked one of the girls he remembered accompanying the one still on the dance floor. He laughed loudly. "What, them?" he pointed in the way of the group of spacer kids. "None of them knows how to move without looking like giraffe that drunk too much beer - watching them is like watching a car wreck, terrible but still makes you unable to look away!"

The spacer kids disappeared soon after that, because he didn't bother to keep his voice down when he said that. For a moment he felt a bit like a heel - not their fault no one told them how to move to the music. Also, quite a pity - now he wouldn't get the number of that blonde.

**-o.O.o-**

Your colleagues definitely shouldn't look so hot when they are attempting to infiltrate some place as a dancer. Amy Shepard was a looker as she was - this silvery blonde hair, the light skin of someone who spent most of their life in the space, fluid movements and a body that should be banned from being wrapped in uniform most of the time.

But _this_?

Shepard in one of those revealing dancer outfits, circling around one of the poles on the small stage, hips swaying into the rhythm of that absolutely terrible music the club owner had playing, carefully placing one feet in front of the other, successfully drawing eyes of most of the patrons - his included. He definitely heard some turians whispering about supportive waists. And he also was supposed to do other things than to ogle her, no matter how seductive the way of her moves was.

"How did I look?" she asked once they were leaving the club, once again dressed in something what wasn't their club wear. Without all the make-up and the revealing outfit, she looked quite inconspicuous unlike what she looked like back on the stage.

"Absolutely ridiculous - good thing most of the patrons were too drunk to notice!"

That. No more dance-posing for Shepard, if Marcus Riley had his say in the matter.

**-o.O.o-**

"Put that tongue back in your mouth LT, or you'll step on it," drawled Ashley as they walked into Flux. She took a great care of saying it every time his eyes strayed aside to look at this dancer or the one over there, ever since they visited Chora's Den some time ago, making the blood rush to his face. It actually didn't even need to be the "dancer" dancer - just anyone who would be dancing on the dance floor, and him looking their way for Ashley to roll her eyes dramatically and say her 'witty' remark.

But what he saw on the dance floor made him gasp, and as Ashley followed his gaze, the witty remark died on her lips as her eyes widened at the sight.

Was that _Commander Shepard_ on the dance floor?

They knew she could dance on the battlefield, weaving between bullets and rays, but this... They certainly wouldn't expect this from their Commander. One was supposed to look stupid when dancing in armour, but she made it actually look hot; the military part of Ashley's mind supplied a note that Commander's hot look may have been enhanced by the fact that she was wearing only light armour, as any heavier armour would prohibit fighting in the way she preferred.

Short look at the LT showed he didn't handle the knowledge any better than her, his skin flushed as he breathed quickly, his eyes never straying from the dancing figure. She wasn't faring any better - the play of club light on Shepard's armour definitely did its piece on even further enhancing her figure, and Ashley felt herself getting warm in places one should never get warm when ogling their superior.

With several long steps she was standing behind Commander, tapping her on the shoulder and when the Commander turned around, nearly dragging her from the platform to the quiet corner of the club LT was still standing at. Taking in the flushed faces of her subordinates Shepard shuffled on her feet awkwardly, the move contrasting with the grace she displayed just moments before.

"I danced like a drunken giraffe again, didn't I?" she asked awkwardly, blushing herself furiously.

The LT just unhelpfully looked aside, and since Ashley didn't want to lie directly, she just said: "Well, I wouldn't call it drunken giraffe..." "...but people were definitely staring," added Alenko in a rush, his face reddening again.

Shepard just gave them an awkward smile and quickly led them from the club, LT busy ogling her shapely behind (and when the hell did _she_ start to think Shepard had shapely behind) as Ashley threw one last glance on now suddenly half-empty dance floor.

Sure, drunken giraffe it was.

**-o.O.o-**

_Was there anything the Queen of the Girl Scouts wasn't good at?_

Shepard was currently at Afterlife's dance floor with one of Aria's guards, obviously having loads of fun by giving the poor fucker a boner with the way her ass moved to the rhythm, making her hips pronounced in a way that made even her all hot and bothered. And turians with their waists and fringes must have had it even worse than her.

"That was fun," Shepard said as they walked towards the Normandy. Jack just rolled her eyes. "Yeah, definitely. Never gets old to watch your boss making idiot out of herself."

She felt a bit bad for lying like that, especially after seeing Shepard's smile dim a bit - but hey, no one could accuse her, Jack, of being a nice person.

**-o.O.o-**

"Will I have to dance?"

"It's probable that you will need to join the dancing people for a moment to attract Morinth's attention, yes."

_"Shit."_

The Commander schooled her frown into an expression of lets-shake-the-club as she pranced to the VIP section of Afterlife, talking to this man and that woman, discreetly warning one and getting some more info from the other. She did everything she could to attract the attention of Samara's murderous daughter, and it still wasn't enough.

With charming smile, she joined a rather bubbly looking asari on the dance floor, and Samara's gaze zoomed on the figure of her Commander.

In all her maiden years, when she often would join her sisters on stages, dancing the night away for someone else's pleasure; yet, she couldn't remember seeing anything like this. Shepard, in the dress Kasumi got her for the party where they went to steal something of Kasumi's back, with the matching pumps, hair cascading over her bare shoulders, subtle make-up accentuating her eyes, looked breath-taking. And the way she moved - like water over the stones, like sunrays melting the last snow; lively and primal in the simplicity of her moves.

She almost missed Morinth closing in on Shepard, as mesmerized as she had been, inexcusably endangering the life of her superior.

Later, as they walked from Morinth's apartment, Shepard laughed uneasily. "Guess Morinth liked terrible dancers in the end."

Letting her mind wander through the terrible and too long history of Morinth's victims she nodded. Yes, some of them were very bad dancers - but it was the awkwardness of their movement, as well as that special something what had drawn Morinth to them. Shepard wasn't a terrible dancer - but it did not violate the Code not to tell her so, if only for the sake of Samara's peace of mind.

**-o.O.o-**

"Why is such a pretty woman like you, Lola, standing by the bar and not destroying the dance floor?"

Shepard turned around. Behind her stood amused looking James, dressed in smart clothes just like her (part of her thought the jacket embraced his muscles really nicely), hand reaching for her in the gesture of "shall we dance" invitation.

She was conflicted for a moment - she didn't like making a klutz out of herself, but at the same time, she didn't want to embarrass James with refusing his invitation in front of, well, _everybody_. She exhaled slowly, raising her eyes to his. "You do realize I'm infamous for, I quote, _'dancing like a giraffe that drunk too much beer'_, don't you?"

James snorted. "Nah, Lola - I've seen you _dance_, and it sure didn't look like a giraffe. So - dance with me?"

After a second of hesitation she took his hand and let herself be led to the dance floor. The previous slow waltz had been followed by tango; the tones of violin sharply showing the rhythm. "You up for this, Lola?" James asked teasingly, when he saw Shepard biting her lower lip.

She nodded, laying her left hand on his shoulder, her right taking his left as she assumed the proper position. In one move, James pressed her against him, and they started to move as one, in short time cleaning the dance floor from other couples, as they moved around, James spinning her and then bending her back, for a short moment hiding his face in her neck before he pulled them back into standing position and continued to move them around.

Her partner was watching her with the look of bird of prey, and she felt herself hypnotized by the intensity of his gaze, drawn into the depths of his eyes. They never practiced this kind of dance, but here, being pressed against him, she felt alive and also a bit of smug as she took in the jaw-on-the-floor looks of their fellow crew members as they stared at the two of them.

The final tones of the song played, followed by stunned silence, as they froze in the last figure, before the audience broke up in applause.

"See?" James leant in to whisper in her ear. "That definitely wasn't a drunken giraffe - although I can imagine why someone made it believe you that nonsense. I mean - have you actually ever seen yourself dance?"

Now that make her look at him curiously. "Uhm, no?"

James seemed to be undecided about something for a fleeting moment, before he pulled her with him from the dance floor and trhough the crowds. "Hey," protested Shepard, "where are we going?"

"You, Lola," answered James without looking back, "are going to see yourself dance. Now."

He guided her from the Silversun casino to the corridor that led to elevator to her apartment; the soft clicking of her heels marking their way. She tapped in her access codes, the doors parting to let them in, James immediately commanding the apartment VI to change the window into mirroring glass. Taking off his jacket, he moved to the sound system, quickly browsing through the music uploaded to it before he found song he liked.

Meanwhile, Amy stood awkwardly by the door, watching James move around, watching her like a bird of prey before he stepped closer to her, his arms sneaking around her waist to press her against his body. She felt herself rest against him; his mouth suddenly by her ear, whispering to her to look into the mirror the window now made. Looking up, she saw herself – flushed and awkward, James leaning his chin on her shoulder, meeting her eyes in the image.

"Watch," he said, and slowly started to move them.

For a moment, she felt as bumbling as the infamous drunken giraffe, before she found her footing and started moving to the rhythm of the slow song James picked for their private dance, her hands resting lightly on his. His eyes never left hers in the mirror, and slowly, she felt graceful in her movements, actually adding her own movements to the sway he chose.

"See?" he asked teasingly after a moment. "No drunken giraffe anywhere. Just one hot, graceful Lola."

"'Hot', you say?" Amy responded lightly, her lips widening in a small, and rather sad, smile. Trust it to James to keep on flirting – but when she was expecting him to backpedal in the same fashion as he did before, he pulled her against him, pressing her bottom back.

And if that wasn't a hard on she felt, she would eat her combat boots.

Things happen fairly rapidly afterwards. She only had the mind to call the system into privacy settings, so no one can enter the apartment and no one can disturb them by comm, unless it's matter of absolute urgency. The way to the master bedroom is littered by their clothing.

She lost her left shoe by the kitchen counter; her right shoe was lost only after they started the ascension to the upper floor. Through some space magic, Amy thought, James managed to untie his own shoes; kicking them off somewhere along the way. Before long, they are wrapped around each other, standing by the bed and removing the remaining clothing while trying not to break the physical contact.

Everything became sort of a blur afterwards; the quick breathing interrupting the otherwise silent apartment, fleeting touches running across heated skin, the imperfect searching for release (everyone who ever said both partners will finish at the same time lies, but _oh_, who cares, this is marvellous, more, more, _more_), before the lights flash under their eyelids and it's over.

For a moment, Amy was afraid James would get up, tell her they never should speak about it and leave her in the unmade bed, longing for more. Instead, the man pulled her against him, hiding his face in her hair as he spooned with her as their breathing evened out again. They didn't speak, just enjoyed the warmth before it got too hot, and then separated – remaining on the same bed but with small distance between them; to know about each other but not overcome them with their presence.

In a short time, sleep claimed them both; granting them the most restful sleep they both had in a while.

**-o.O.o-**

In the morning, Amy woke up with a start. She was alone; the bed was still unmade, but the clothing she wore yesterday evening is laid over the chair by her desk with care, the dress surprisingly not sporting even a single wrinkle on its black material. Before she had time to start feeling like an idiot for hoping for more, James entered the room. He was wearing only the pants of his suit, and when he noticed her awake, he gave her a grin.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," he quipped with an easy smile, as he moved to sit on the bed by her side. For a second, Amy felt a little awkward about sitting there, wearing only the blanket but if she didn't feel awkward yesterday when they fell asleep in each other's reach, she would not start feeling like that now.

There were things that needed to be considered before they returned to Normandy and continued the mad chase after the victory in the war against the Reapers. But until then, they will have breakfast, and will dance into every single room of this whole apartment.


End file.
